There were looks and tones of wonder in the hospital that day, From the rows of low white couches where the sick and dying lay, As, with all his train about him, in his splendour and his pride, On he walked, the Bishop Troilus, by the simple Patriarch's side. But erelong the two were parted, for as Troilus looked around, He recoiled in shrinking horror from each doleful sight and sound; While the Patriarch loved to linger for a while by every bed, With his strong arms ever ready to sustain a drooping head; Happy in each humble service, and forgetting all his state, While he thanked the Lord who sent him on these stricken ones to wait. How the pale sad faces brightened into smiles as he drew near, And what loving words were murmured, faintly murmured in his ear!
"Does he well," said Bishop Troilus, as he saw him turn and go From one bedside to another, "does he well to stoop so low?" Yet had Troilus only known it, they were not the poor alone Whom his brother served that morning, but their Master and his own. There was one but just recovered, light of heart, though poor and weak, With a journey long before him, going forth his home to seek, Far away among the mountains where his wife and children stayed; But the Patriarch's love had found him ere the stranger sought his aid, Giving money for the journey, giving blessèd words of cheer. Then he turned, for time was pressing, and a sadder face lay near, Worn by months of pain and languor; he was young, had once been strong, He was fading now, but slowly, and perhaps would suffer long, And the hundred wants of sickness who can know that has not proved? He had wearied all about him, but the Patriarch's heart was moved; So he heard the long complaining to which no one else gave heed, Then he left him, soothed and peaceful, with enough for all his need. So with one and with another for a moment he would stay, At each bed he left a blessing, and a blessing brought away, Till his purse grew light and empty, as had happened oft before; Though he turned it up and shook it, there was not one penny more.
Then he turned and sought for Troilus, who that moment, as it chanced, With a look subdued and solemn, stood and gazed, like one entranced, On the strange, unearthly beauty, on the light of perfect peace In a woman's face before him; she was nearing her release, And a glory rested on her from the opening door above; Yet one shadow marred its splendour when she looked with anxious love On a little maid, her daughter, with a pretty, careworn face, Who had brought two younger children, waiting now for her embrace, Wondering why she did not give it, why so deadly still she lay, For they knew not, though she knew it, she would not live out the day. Said the Patriarch: "Brother Troilus, have you nothing you could give To this woman and her children, for she has not long to live? And I see her mind is troubled, and I think, before they part, Had she something she could leave them, it would ease her burdened heart; For myself, I freely promise I will make these babes my care, But to-day my purse is empty, so I pray you not to spare."